Page 72 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)
“Sorry I’m fashionably late,” Tory announced, flashing that disarming smile of his as he sauntered in. “The Strip’s more congested than James’ inbox after a holiday weekend. I considered parachuting in, but I didn’t want to upstage the chandelier.”
Fin’s jaw practically hit the floor while Ethan seemed to be doing his best impression of a tomato ripening at high speed. Ethan swallowed hard enough to hear it echo through the room and turned to hiss at me, “Why didn’t you tell me Tory was coming?”
Unable to hold back any longer, laughter bubbled out of me—genuine and unforced—at their expressions as they both gawked at Tory like he’d just stepped off the runway instead of out of Vegas traffic.
Tory accepted a glass of wine from a hovering waiter with the grace of a diplomat accepting a peace treaty, then began working the room like it was his own personal stage.
First stop: James and Matt, where their brief exchange looked like it could either solve world peace or orchestrate a hostile takeover—with these guys, you never could tell.
Their conversation was punctuated with the kind of chuckles that were more about shared power than shared jokes.
Next, Tory clinked glasses with William, their exchange involving what appeared to be an inside joke, judging by William’s eye roll and the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.
Then, ever the social butterfly, Tory fluttered over to where Mia and Savannah stood by the window.
“Ladies, you both look absolutely stunning tonight,” he crooned, bowing slightly as if they were royalty gracing him with their presence.
“Though I must say, you’re giving the chandelier some serious competition. ”
Mia’s cheeks flushed prettier than the roses on the table, while Savannah’s giggle trilled through the air like champagne bubbles.
James shot Tory a glare that could’ve cut glass, and William performed another masterful eye roll, as if searching for divine patience.
Tory, naturally, remained unfazed by the spectrum of reactions—a man clearly used to navigating the treacherous waters of jealousy and male posturing.
Finally, he made his way to our little corner of awkwardness, where Ethan had turned into a human stop sign—bright red and utterly stationary.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little survivor,” Tory cooed, ruffling my hair like I was his beloved pet. “Look at you, all healed up and pretty again. Did the bad men rough you up too much, sweetheart?”
I swatted his hand away, though I couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll have you know I’m practically indestructible now. Like a cockroach, but cuter.”
“Aw, you’re always cute, kitten,” Tory teased, pinching my cheek. “Even when you’re getting yourself into trouble that requires us billionaires to come rushing to the rescue.”
Fin, finally finding his voice, blurted out, “Nobody told me you were coming tonight.”
“Of course not,” Tory replied with a dramatic sigh, still patting my head absently. “Nobody ever thinks to invite poor little me, even though I helped save our precious Andy here from becoming fish food in Lake Mead.”
“Actually, this dinner was Mia’s idea,” I pointed out, trying to deflect blame. “She ambushed me with it this morning when I got back from the hospital. I barely had time to process being discharged before she announced we were having this celebratory dinner.”
“Oh, so it’s your sister throwing me to the wolves of social exclusion?” Tory teased, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “And here I thought my favorite kitten was the cruel one.”
I ducked my head sheepishly. “Still, I should have checked the guest list. And thank you—for everything.”
“Oh hush, precious,” Tory cooed, patting my cheek.
He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper full of mischief.
“But if Matt ever gets too bossy with his alpha billionaire routine, just give me a call. My yakuza boys would love to teach him some manners—strictly as a favor for my favorite kitten, of course.”
I burst out laughing, though with Tory, you could never be entirely sure where the joke ended and reality began.
His attention then shifted to Ethan, and something in his expression changed—became sharper, more focused, though he masked it quickly with his usual playful demeanor.
“And speaking of favorites,” he purred, his eyes trailing over Ethan with deliberate slowness, “how’s my sleeping beauty doing?
Still avoiding tequila after our last little… encounter?”
Ethan, already red-faced, turned a shade darker that would’ve made a sunset jealous. He clutched his wineglass like a lifeline, unable to meet Tory’s gaze but somehow also unable to look away. “I… that was… I mean…”
“You were absolutely adorable,” Tory continued, stepping closer to Ethan, who looked like he might spontaneously combust at any moment. “All curled up in my Egyptian cotton sheets, mumbling the most interesting things in your sleep.”
“I didn’t—” Ethan started, then stopped, horror dawning on his face. “What did I say?”
Tory’s smile was pure sin. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?
Though I must say, some of your suggestions were quite…
creative.” He reached out and straightened Ethan’s already perfectly straight tie, letting his fingers linger just a fraction too long.
“Maybe we can discuss them sometime when you’re more… coherent.”
I watched this exchange with growing amazement, feeling like I was witnessing some elaborate mating dance between a panther and a very flustered deer.
Fin, beside me, was doing his best impression of a tennis spectator, his head swiveling between his brother and Tory as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
The rest of us tried—and failed—to suppress our grins, though I noticed Tory’s eyes kept drifting back to Ethan even as he maintained his casual stance.
There was something there, hidden beneath all that playful teasing, something that made me wonder if perhaps Tory’s interest wasn’t entirely for show.
The dining room transformed into a culinary carnival as waiters orchestrated a spectacle of silver domes being lifted to reveal a feast fit for the high rollers these men were.
The spread before us was nothing short of magnificent—pan-seared sea bass that shimmered like golden morning dew, steaks so tender they practically cut themselves in eager anticipation, and a vibrant array of sides that made my mouth water.
The potatoes—oh, the potatoes!—were mashed to perfection with a crown of melted cheese that stretched like golden threads each time someone dared to scoop from the bowl.
The aromas swirled around us in a seductive dance of scents, each more tantalizing than the last.
Fin’s eyes lit up like Vegas at nightfall, and he rubbed his hands together with the unabashed glee of a child promised an entire candy store.
“Do you think they’d notice if I slipped some of this into my pockets for later?
” he mused aloud, eyeing the feast with an intensity usually reserved for star-crossed lovers.
Matt chuckled from across the table, the sound resonating with the clinking glasses. “No need for pocket-stuffing tonight, Fin. Just tell the waiter what you’d like to take home—order as much as you want. Consider it a gift from the Maxwell’s kitchen.”
Fin’s smile bloomed across his face, radiant as a desert sunrise. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head, no doubt calculating how many meals he could squeeze out of Matt’s generosity—aiming for a week’s worth at least.
As we dug in, the food proved to be nothing short of divine.
Flavors exploded on my tongue like fireworks on New Year’s Eve, each bite more spectacular than the last. The conversation flowed as smoothly as the wine, and I found myself caught up in the whirlwind of laughter and banter.
I watched Mia chat animatedly with Savannah, their heads bent together in conspiratorial delight, while even William seemed to relax, his usual icy demeanor thawing under the warmth of good company.
Throughout the meal, I felt Matt’s eyes on me—hot and intense, a silent promise of what awaited us once the last plate was cleared.
Just the memory of our passionate encounter earlier sent a wave of heat coursing through me, and I shifted in my seat, willing my body to behave until we were alone again.
Beside me, Ethan sat perched on the edge of his seat as if ready for fight or flight—whichever came first. Each time Tory leaned in to whisper something in his ear, Ethan’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, and he took a hasty gulp of his wine.
It was like watching a particularly nervous hamster trying to drink away its social anxiety.
“I’m not sure it’s wise to keep pace with a man who has his own vineyard,” Tory teased, nodding toward the half-empty bottle beside Ethan’s plate.
“Wouldn’t want our sleeping beauty to need another rescue, would we?
Though I must say, you do make the most adorable sounds when you’re sleeping off a wine buzz. ”
Ethan choked on his drink, sputtering and coughing while Tory patted his back with mock concern. “I don’t… I never…” he stammered, reaching for his wineglass again out of pure nervous habit before catching himself.
“Oh, but you did,” Tory purred, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper that somehow carried across the table. “Something about my eyes being like pools of melted chocolate? Very poetic, really.”
“Oh God,” Ethan groaned. He grabbed his wineglass again and drained it in one desperate gulp.
“And there he goes again,” Fin commented cheerfully, watching his brother’s desperate attempt to drink away his embarrassment. “It’s like watching a hummingbird at a flower, except the flower is filled with premium cabernet.”
“At least he’s consistent,” I added with a grin. “When in doubt, drink it out—isn’t that your motto, Ethan?”